Fakebook

Jake Honeycutt. Nice name. It should be. I made it up. Actually, I made Jake Honeycutt up. He was supposed to be a decoy. A Facebook red herring to deter my ex from pestering me. My Fakebook boyfriend. But Jake Honeycutt would become much more than that.

My relationship status on Facebook had screamed single for so long that the ex had decided he might have another chance. With every phone call, text message, and email, came the question 'so are you seeing anyone?'. By itself, the question was harmless. But when it was accompanied with 'I wish I could come and visit you', I knew yearning was invested in my reply. I wanted to lie. But I couldn't. But Fakebook could lie for me.

Changing my status to 'in a relationship' would invite unwanted questions. My relationship had to be linked to a deceptively real profile. And yet, he'd need a job that would keep his visits to me infrequent, brief, but oh so hot. A fly-in-fly-out worker. Perfect. My new man would be a pilot.

Jake couldn't be a faceless pilot. He needed a face, and a body, and they both had to be gorgeous. After all, if I was going to customise my boyfriend, I might as well have the best.

I found Jake's photo on a stock photo site. It was a small price to pay for a boyfriend. The model had posed for a range of shots so with one subscription, I downloaded a visual backstory for my new boyfriend.

But my man couldn’t be a ‘nigel no friends’. Even if he'd only been on Facebook for a short time, he had to have friends other than me. Every one of his imaginary facebook friends needed their own email account, and this process took several weeks.

I dedicated each evening to creating a timeline of our blossoming friendship and deflected intrusive questions from the ex. I kept my replies cryptic and non-committal…for the moment.

The second I updated my relationship status, the whole of Facebook seemed to rejoice. The congratulations and 'tell me mores' piled up on my wall, as if my entire friends list had been waiting for the day I'd get myself another bloke. Was my single status so offensive?

Now that we were Facebook official, Jake's constant attention became even more imperative. Absences needed to be filled with romantic cyber gestures posted from far-flung parts of the planet during a break on one of his long haul flights. I studied the Qantas flight routes, and planned his itinerary as if planning my own schedule. The electronic postcards and messages had to be logical, plausible, yet exotic. Though I had no idea how a major airline would roster its pilots, I posted messages from around the world. LAX, JFK, Dallas, Heathrow, Frankfurt, Singapore, Beijing, Johannesberg, Honolulu - my man had landed the big birds on all the runways.

My new status and Jake's constant romantic messages had the right effect. After a few curious messages, the ex faded into the background. Although I’d achieved my goal,I found myself spending more and more time creating the facade of a relationship.

Meanwhile, Jake's Facebook profile had taken off. I accepted numerous friend requests on his behalf from scantily dressed women, and as soon as they became friends, they plastered flirtatious messages on his wall. The private messages didn’t hold back – some of them propositioned him, suggesting they could be his other girl, or even suggesting that he dump me. It seemed I’d chosen my fakebook boyfriend well – every girl wanted a pilot.

Jake was faithful. He never replied to the private messages, and maintained a cool but friendly distance in his replies to comments on his wall.On the few weekends that he could fly up to visit me, I would switch my mobile off, stay off Facebook and pretend I was spending the weekend with my man. I would be unavailable to all my friends, both real life and online. The façade had become more important than the reality.

I received an invitation to a party - thoughtfully, they had invited me and Jake. But I’d already declared on Facebook that it was a Jake weekend. I couldn’t show up without my fake boyfriend. I turned the invitation down, and thought about how my potential real boyfriend might be at that party.

As yet another private message popped into Jake’s inbox, and I plotted his next flight routes, I started to envy Jake’s life. Here I was, sitting at home, living my life vicariously through a boyfriend that didn’t exist. I’d stopped socialising. My fake boyfriend had a much more interesting life than me.

I had no choice. I had to reclaim my life. My real life.

I had to break up with Jake.

Sympathies poured in on Facebook. Lots of questions. Questions I didn’t want to answer. I replied “I couldn’t talk about it.”

To deal with my fake grief, I booked a flight to Sydney. A weekend away was just what I needed. A weekend offline. A weekend meeting real people.

I took my seat in the Qantas plane, and fastened my seatbelt. The captain’s voice came over the loudspeaker.“Captain Jake Honeycutt.”

My heart jolted. I looked up, but the door to the cockpit was closed, concealing the man behind the golden voice.

Bloody hell! Jake Honeycutt. It was a good thing I’d broken up with him. He’d been lying to me all this time. He was only a regional pilot.